


Unexpected Help

by MidnightPandora



Series: me projecting onto the little gremlin? its more common than youd think [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Game(s), description of in game death, mention of doctors and nurses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26617312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightPandora/pseuds/MidnightPandora
Summary: Kokichi has a breakdown when the only one around to help is Kaito Momota. Who hates him. Or does he?
Series: me projecting onto the little gremlin? its more common than youd think [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934503
Comments: 9
Kudos: 81





	Unexpected Help

The next time it happens Kokichi isn’t at Akamatsu’s home. He’s at the doctors office, frequent checkups being a requirement after the game. So frequent that it isn’t unusual to see one of the other participants there at the same time as him. But this time it’s Momota… while more amicable towards each other following the game they still don’t really talk. Their personalities and ideals are just a little too different to truly be friends. Kokichi spotted him as soon as he entered the waiting room, leaning back in an uncomfortable chair with lanky legs stretched out before him. After a brief and awkward bout of eye contact Kokichi seated himself beside the fish tank to avoid having to communicate, staring into the slightly murky water at the poor tetras that had to face children’s tapping all day. His eyes followed one on its arbitrary path around the tank then jumped to another, following one after another and letting his mind wander.

“Ouma?” He eventually heard his name. He hadn’t noticed his departure but Momota was no longer in the room when he looked up. Probably called back already.

Kokichi didn’t particularly like doctors, but they weren’t the worst thing in the world, just a bit of an inconvenience. He sighed as he followed the nurse back through a maze of bland hallways and went through the usual motions, getting his height and weight measured, his temperature, etc. It was second nature by this point with how often they all came in. Neither one of them spoke through the entire transaction. 

Eventually satisfied with her records the nurse brought him to an examination room and instructed him to sit up on the thinly padded table, the paper crinkling beneath him and slipping a little as he struggled to get up on it given his short stature.

“Please remove your shirt and feel free to lay down, the doctor will be checking your breathing and chest. He should be here shortly.” She instructed tiredly. She wasn’t very friendly or talkative, all business, but Kokichi preferred it that way. He wasn’t in the mood to keep up his usual energy.

Kokichi laid back on the uncomfortable surface, shivering a bit as his bare chest was assaulted by the cold air of the room. Aside from a clock ticking loudly on one wall the silence was deafening, he hoped the doctor wouldn’t be long, he hated being left alone with his thoughts. 

Seconds ticked by and turned to minutes and Kokichi was growing bored. Without meaning to, his mind wandered, and as it often did when it wandered, he thought of the killing game. The simulation. The traumatic event that had turned him into a monster in the hopes of ending the torture. Wrapping his arms around himself he recalled his death, his plan to create an unsovable murder, and how it failed. He was so stupid. He’d gotten himself killed in one of the most painful and terrifying ways possible and for nothing. And he’d brought others down with him.

Suddenly the table wasn’t cold pleather any more, it was the smooth metal of a hydraulic press, the crinkly paper no longer there but instead a familiar galaxy printed jacket.

Kokichi gasped and sat up. He was fine. He wasn’t there. The game was over and he was just in the doctor's office.

But the logical side of his brain didn’t help, he’d already thrown himself back into the memory and the illogical part of him couldn't help but scream at him to MOVE. To get out of there before he died. 

Before he knew it his breath was coming in short gasps and his body was starting to shake. He’d hurt so many people and for NOTHING. He FAILED.

He knew he should wait patiently for the doctor but his panicked mind wanted him to get out of there, needed to get out, even if just for a moment. He’d come up with some dumb excuse about why he’d left later, it would be embarrassing but he’d make it work, he just needed to breathe. He tried to stand but his body shook and he stumbled as he dropped to the ground, causing him to freeze up too badly to move or speak. Pure white fear coursed through his veins, both a burning pain and an icy chill in one. The doctor's office faded from around him and all he could see was the Xisal Hanger, the faint smell of poison burning his sinuses.

I need help. Please someone save me. PLEASE.

He glanced down at his shaky pale hands, eyes blurring a bit, why was his shirt off? Was he heading to the press already? 

He had to do this. He was going to save everyone.

Looking down he noticed something odd though, a rectangular outline in his pocket. He hadn’t had a phone in the killing game had he?

With a small sigh of relief he pulled out his phone, realizing he was no longer in the game. He could feel it pulling at his subconscious though, trying to drag him back into bad thoughts and nightmarish memories. Quickly fighting it he decided to try to contact someone, he needed to ground himself here in the real world. 

Asking for help wasn’t something that had come easy to him. Dozens of therapy sessions and a few of his friends repeatedly drilling it into his head that they wouldn’t judge him had been needed before he’d begun hesitantly reaching out. It still made him uneasy.

Fingers trembling he scrolled through his contacts, Shuichi, Rantaro, even Keebo, these were some of the people he trusted, those he wouldn’t mind as much seeing him like this. But none of them were here were they? Mind falling back into the throes of panic he grew confused, they weren’t in the hanger so how could they help him… Momota was the only one in the hanger right? But Momota hated him… he’d laugh at him for sure.

No, no, not hanger, doctor’s office. You’re surrounded by nurses and doctors that can help.

No! They can’t see me like this! Part of his mind shouted. They won’t understand, they’ll only judge you! He didn’t trust the doctors, even if they offered help it was through a veil of thinly concealed pity and annoyance.

It’s how everyone who hadn’t been through the game treated their experiences, it was just a simulation, everything was back to normal and real again so they should be able to easily put it behind them. Why weren’t they just going back to normal already.

Suddenly the soft words of Rantaro Amami came back to him. 

“All of us care about you.” He’d told Kokichi once after a panic attack. All of us. As in all the members of the 53rd killing game.

Yes he needed one of them, someone who would understand, someone who wouldn’t judge. 

Suddenly it didn’t matter that it was Momota. Momota who had punched him. Who swore and yelled and got angry at him. Who probably hated his guts. None of it mattered because Momota had gone through what he had gone through, particularly in the hanger. Momota wouldn’t judge him like the doctors would. He was annoying and brash but trustworthy.

With shaky hands he pulled up the contact he’d never interacted with before yet had put in his phone at Amami and Akamatsu’s request.

Staring at the blurry screen he watched a large tear plop onto the surface, he couldn’t hold them back any longer. It took him several tries to type out a message with the tremor in his hands and difficulty seeing.

“Please help”

“Scared”

“Please”

He sent out a series of texts.

He had the urge to keep spamming the other man, desperate for help now, but he forced himself to set his phone back down, the small logical part of him still having some control.

Trying to be patient he drew his legs up to his body and wrapped his arms around them, making himself as small as possible. The clock continued to tick as his mind began to fade back to a place of cold metal and dripping blood.

Just as he was beginning to completely lose sight of his surroundings he heard the door slide open. Scared it might be the doctors or nurses he scrunched his eyes tight in shame and drew his limbs in even closer, not wanting to see their disgusted faces.

“Ouma-kun?” called a familiar voice.

Kokichi’s eyes open carefully, peering up from behind his arms in what was likely a disgustingly desperate expression.

“I came as fast as I could but I didn’t know which room- I’m sorry.” Momota rubbed his hand on the back of his neck awkwardly, still standing in the doorway.

Kokichi shook his head, tears continuing to stream down his face. It was fine, he was here now, that’s all that mattered.

His stomach still felt like it was perpetually dropping, his breathing too fast and shallow to be natural, but by the tiniest bit he felt comforted just by the other boy's presence. Someone familiar was here, who had been there when it happened. Living proof that they’d survived stood before him. Momota living and breathing without the effects of some unknown virus or blood dripping from a punctured arm, just normal healthy Momota.

“Do you wanna… talk about it?” The taller man looked up at him with an awkward grimace.

Kokichi only stared at him, he had no idea what he wanted and he couldn’t speak regardless, his throat too tight in fear to make a sound even if he’d tried. He hadn’t thought this far ahead, had only known that having someone else nearby would keep him here in the present. Normally he might find Kaito’s awkwardness entertaining but at the moment he was only frustrated. 

Momota tried to change tactics. “Do you need to get out of here?”

Kokichi thought for a moment then shook his head. The room itself wasn’t a problem, it was spacious and the table no longer reminded him of the hard press, just being alone with his thoughts had done that.

“Okay… do you want me to try to distract you?” Momota tried.

Yes please. Kokichi wanted to say. Instead he gave a small nod. Hating how desperate he was.

“Alright…” Momota trailed off awkwardly for a moment, pausing to think.

Then he broke into a grin, “I met up with Maki today! We went to get coffee at this place but she didn’t understand all the fancy drink names… not that I know much better I always just get the same thing because it’s confusing, but she accidentally tried to order a latte with no foam!” His boisterous laugh filled the room and he glanced at Kokichi who was staring at him intently listening, “Uh then we went window shopping for a bit, you know in that part of town with all the really fancy clothes stores?” He continued to ramble about his day, he doubted it was very interesting but it seemed to be helping as he watched the little leader relax bit by bit.

“And then we-“ he paused in the middle of his story when he noticed Ouma shivering, it was a bit chilly in these offices and the other boy wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“Hey Ouma are you cold?” He asked.

Ouma looked confused for a moment then gave a shrug, he hadn’t really noticed, too stuck in his head to take note of his surroundings.

“Is it alright if I touch you?” Momota asked.

Kokichi was shocked at the proposal coming from the wannabe astronaut, both that he’d even want to touch someone so horrible and that he’d been considerate enough to ask first. He gave a small nod.

Before he could take it back there was a small thud as Momota sat down beside him and he startled briefly when a warm arm laid around his shoulders.

Without thinking too much about it Kokichi pressed his face to Kaito’s chest.

This was different from before. Shuichi and Rantaro were a bit… softer than Momota’s muscular build, but it still felt nice to be held. He felt safe.

While he’d never admit it, Kokichi constantly craved physical touch. Just the warm presence of someone else’s body beside yours, it calmed him to no end. Provided it was someone he trusted.

It was part of why he was constantly finding excuses to drape himself over others or crawl into their laps, he made it out like it was just part of his eccentric personality trying to annoy them more and get up in their business but in reality he needed it.

He could feel Momota’s heartbeat chugging away under him, it was slightly fast-likely stressed about the current situation-but deep and strong. He could feel the rise and fall of his chest with each steady breath Momota took and he subconsciously began to match pace, his own breathing finally beginning to even out.

“Do you… want to tell me what happened?” Kaito asked carefully.

Kokichi froze. No, he really did not. But should he? Probably. He wasn’t dumb, he knew talking about it would help as much as he hated the idea of opening up to others, but he’d already shown how fucked up he was he might as well go all the way.

He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again realizing he still couldn’t get his voice to come out, his throat just too tight in fear.

A few new tears streamed down his face as he pressed himself into Momota again, feeling useless.

“Hey it’s okay, you can tell me later. Or you could type it or something…” Kaito suggested. His tone was slowly losing the awkward edge it’d had when he’d first entered, falling into the same confident and calm voice he used when talking to Maki or Shuichi as he got comfortable around the smaller male.

Kokichi realized that was a good idea, without a word he pulled his phone back out. He cringed slightly at the sight of the panicked texts he’d sent earlier but ignored them to quickly type out an explanation. 

“They left me alone. Shirtless on the table. Felt like the press.”

He paused not knowing what else to say and realized Kaito was patiently looking in the other direction, giving him the chance to filter and edit his words before reading it.

With a deep breath he powered on.

“Sometimes I can still feel the poison burning through me… and the mere seconds of being crushed and snapped and cracked to pieces before everything went black.”

He quickly thrust his phone at the other before he could take back his words. This was something he hasn’t told anyone before, even in therapy. Many thought his death had been too swift for him to remember any part of it, but laying under that press it had felt like agonizing hours. He’d felt every pop and crack as hard metal crushed bone and flesh, pain bursting from different parts of his body, space too tight to breathe in, then blackness. 

He thought he’d take this information to his grave, but right now, with the person he least expected, he felt like being honest for once.

Kaito took the phone carefully and Kokichi winced when he heard the other boy gasp. Waited for him to pull away, to say something about just how fucked up and broken he was and how he didn’t want to deal with him. Or for the disgusting pity of someone who doesn’t understand.

Instead warm arms wrapped around him tighter.

Kokichi looked up through wet eyelashes and was shocked to see Kaito’s own eyes a little watery, but no disgust or pity. He looked proud.

“You probably had it the worst of us all.” He gruffly murmured, “going through one of the most horrific deaths, and willingly doing it to yourself.” His eyes softened.

“I don’t know how you did it.” His eyes brightened slightly. This wasn’t the pity or disgust he had been dreading, it was pride. Kaito Momota was proud of him, admiring him even.

Maybe one day he would hold this over the other. But for now, he only hugged him back, a small watery smile hidden in the folds of a space boy’s jacket as more tears began to fall. They weren’t of fear this time but of relief. He hadn’t even realized it but he’d been hoping and waiting, needing the confirmation from someone else that what he’d gone through was hard, nearly impossible yet he’d done it. He hadn’t told anyone because he didn’t want pity or horror, what he didn’t realize was that he needed recognition. Admittance that it had truly happened and he’d tried his best even if he’d failed in the end. Now he was getting that recognition in a place he least expected it but he couldn’t be more grateful.


End file.
